


line my eyes and call me pretty

by adreadfulidea



Category: Mad Men
Genre: Crossdressing Kink, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-21
Updated: 2017-09-21
Packaged: 2019-01-01 03:40:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12147855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adreadfulidea/pseuds/adreadfulidea
Summary: Michael liked to watch Megan put all her beautiful things on.





	line my eyes and call me pretty

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from the song Laid by James.

 

 

 

Michael liked to watch Megan put all her beautiful things on.

He supposed he wasn’t the only guy in the world who liked to watch his wife get dressed. But it didn’t actually have anything to do with her being _un_ dressed — not naked, or in her underwear, or any of the other ways he liked seeing her, or that they liked seeing each other. The process of it was soothing somehow, and a little magical. The ritual of it. Megan seemed to catch on; she brought all her powders and paints into the bedroom and put them on the mirrored dresser they had at the foot of their bed, where there was no bathroom door to close.

He was lying on the bed, waiting for her to get ready, when she smiled at him in the mirror. They were going out with some of her friends and so she was getting really dolled up. “I like that you don’t rush me,” she said. “You know that?”

“Why would I?” he asked.

“Most men do,” she said. “They like to look at pretty girls, but they don’t want to see how we get that way. It’s supposed to just happen.”

“You’re always pretty,” he said. “Either way. Besides, I think it’s kinda neat.”

“Aww,” she said, and put down her lipstick and came over to lie down next to him. “You’re pretty, too. _Very_ pretty.”

When he closed his eyes she touched his eyelashes with just the tips of her fingers. She often called him that: pretty, rather than handsome. He liked it and wasn’t sure what to do with how much he liked it. The compliment made a strange warmth bloom in his stomach, hot and insistent.

 

It came up again, kind of, on another night when Megan was getting undressed for bed. She was taking off her earrings and glanced back at him, biting her lip. He was already in his underwear.

“What?” he asked. “You want for me to put my clothes back on?”

She grinned. “Never,” she said. “I was thinking about something else. It’s not important.”

“Like?” he pressed. She didn’t look like she actually thought it wasn’t important. Something was on her mind and, if he was guessing correctly, also the tip of her tongue.

She tilted one of her eyeliner bottles back against the mirror it sat in front of and then let it straighten. “Would you ever wear it?” she asked. “I mean, privately?”

He blinked. “Would I — you mean makeup?”

“Um,” she said. “Yeah.”

He could feel heat rising in his face. She saw, and got the wrong idea.

“Forget it,” she said, breezily crossing the room to kiss his cheek and also lie through her teeth. “It was a silly idea. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Megan rarely asked him for anything important directly, even now. He wondered if that was Don, making her so afraid of being rejected that she resigned herself to not getting what she wanted before the issue even came up. And he wondered how long she had been thinking about exactly this. Megan wasn’t usually shy about sex; did she believe some part of her desires to be too outre for him, too weird? Had she always thought so?

He didn’t like that idea. Hell, no one was as weird as him. He was a goddamned expert on weird.

He still stuttered a little when he spoke to reassure her. “Uh — I, yeah. I would. If you wanted me to.”

She let out a long breath. Her eyes went bright. Focused. The way they did when they — well. He’d been right. Thank god.

“Do you want me to?” he asked, because he had to be sure. And he wanted to hear her say it.

Megan started to grin. “Yes,” she said, when it was at full bloom. “I want you to.”

He sat down on the bed. “How do you want me?” he asked. “Should I sit in front of the mirror, or —”

“No, stay there.” Megan returned to her dressing table and took several pots containers from it as well as a couple of brushes. “That’s perfect.”

“Do I have to do anything?”

She got on the bed, her legs tucked under her and the mattress dipping slightly when she leaned in close. The makeup she placed next to her knee. She rubbed the bristles of one of the brushes, a small and pointed one, on the skin of her arm. “Stay as still as possible.” She dipped the brush into a pot. It was red and gold with flowers painted on the lid. “Oh, and don’t blink.”

“I can promise to try,” he said. “I can’t promise I’ll succeed.”

“The effort is what counts.” Megan tilted his chin back with two fingers. He felt so odd; exposed even though he was still wearing his shorts and it wasn’t like she hadn’t seen him in less. Like she was seeing an angle of him she never had before. It made his face warm. He wondered how that was going to go with the makeup. “Look up at the ceiling,” she said, and he did, grateful to have some kind of instruction to follow.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like it. It was that he did. He tried not to move a muscle, tried not to fuck it up.

She lined his eyes in black and shadowed them in some glittery peach color. Then she put mascara on him. It was hard not blink during that part. He counted backwards from ten to accomplish it. Her fingers were cool and experienced on his face, her hands steady.

Afterwards she just looked at him. For a long time — an uncomfortably long time —

“Well?” he asked, his nerves sparking with tension. “Am I — do I look okay?”

“You look great,” she said. “Good enough to eat.”

Megan smoothed her palms down over his shoulders. He had goosebumps.

“Is there more?” he asked. Hoping there would be? Hoping there wouldn’t be?

(Michael was not a patient man.)

“One thing,” she said. And she took out the lipstick.

It wasn’t in a tube, but in a flat compact. She applied it to his mouth with her fingertips. Then she cupped his face in her hands and made him look at her. He closed his eyes.

“Feeling shy?” she asked.

“Not exactly,” he said. Her thumbs traced the curves of his cheeks and made him shiver. Was this how Megan felt when she put her face on? Like she was standing on stage.

“You’re hard,” she said.

“I know,” he said, and kissed her.

They fell back onto the bed. His lipstick got all over her mouth too, staining it pink and plump. He couldn’t seem to stop kissing her; the two of them grinding together against the sheets in a frenzy. Getting in between her legs and pressing his hips down. And then she reached inside his underwear and stroked him, her hand tight and warm —

“God, Megan,” he sighed. He dropped a kiss on the side of her neck, left a little mark there.

“Can you go down on me?” she asked. No, begged, her voice cracking. “Can you — while you look like —”

“Jesus,” he said. “Yeah, I can — Megan — why did we leave your dress _on_ —”

“I like being dressed while you’re naked,” she said.

A jolt went through him at that. He squeezed himself through his shorts, just enough to be frustrating and she was looking down at him while he did it, her eyes hooded, her beautiful lips parted —

He ripped her pantyhose getting them off. Those things were made of fucking cobwebs. Somehow he didn’t think she was gonna mind.

She was already wet. And god help him, he couldn’t wait to get his mouth on her, to make it worse, or better. She spread her thighs when he did, pulled him in by the hair.

He licked her open slow. Slower than she wanted. Slower than _he_ wanted. But it was worth it to tease her, to get her to dig her nails into his scalp and curse at him. She did it in French or in English, and nothing he could ever say in either language would ever sound so good. So he licked her open slow, and paused to bite lightly at the inside of her thigh, and laughed against her soft pale skin when she pushed her heels into his sides in impatience like she was riding a horse.

“Screw you,” she said, panting. “I’ll do it myself.”

“Aw, come on —”

“I will,” she said, and rubbed herself with short, sharp motions. Her eyes squeezed shut, her head falling back. “I’ll — make you go wait in the next room or something —”

“Okay,” he said, and tried to stand up. She wrapped her legs around him, preventing any movement.

“You little shit,” she said.

“You’re gonna feel bad you said that in a minute,” he told her, kissed the side of her hand, and then licked her fingers off.

“God,” she said. Her other hand cupped the back of his neck.

He pushed two fingers inside her, because she liked that, and watched her face twist when he pressed up and rubbed the way she had taught him to do. Yeah. She _really_ liked that.

“Oh — _oh_ —” she said, just so sweet and small, and then kicked out her feet and yelled when he licked her again, when he sucked her off until she came with her hand over her mouth and her breath whistling through her clenched teeth.

(Their apartment had thin walls. Once a neighbor had heard them being intimate and had the fucking gall to bring it up with Megan when they were in the elevator together. Michael wanted to go set his apartment on fire but she wouldn’t let him.)

He touched the pink streak he’d left on her thigh. “Fuck,” he hissed. “I got it all over you —”

“Can I fuck you, too?” she asked. “Please?”

“ _Yes_ ,” he said, immediately, his cock throbbing at the thought. He scrambled to get his shorts off, to get up on the bed while she went to look for her apparatus. He didn’t know what it was properly called.

She wanted him on his back. “I want to look at you,” she said. “I want to watch. Especially today.”

He had never figured out what fucking him did for her. For him — oh god, yes. He knew what it did for _him_. Her slick fingers inside him, making his hips twitch, making his eyes roll back when she hit the right spot. The burn when she pushed in with the dildo, almost too much. And not enough. The way she looked down at him, every time, intense and hungry. Like he was her very favorite dessert.

Now it was her turn to tease, until she didn’t want to anymore. She pushed his legs back and fucked him with a dirty slap of flesh, fucked sounds out of him he hadn’t known he could make before he met her. Before she let him into her bed.

“Shhh, baby,” she said, and closed her lubed-up hand around him. Started stroking him off in earnest, her palm wet and his cock wet and making these _noises_ —

“I’ll take care of you,” she said. “My pretty, pretty boy.”

He came then, his forearm thrown over his eyes. It seemed to go on for longer than usual, a mess of aftershocks and overstimulation. When she pulled out he twitched and groaned, turning onto his side, riding out the spasms.

She got up behind him and ran her fingers through his hair. Once he had recovered he leaned back between her sprawled legs and she slipped her arms around his chest. “You’re the best husband,” she said.

“I know,” he said.

“Pffft,” she said, but kissed the top of his head anyway. “It’s nice for sex to be a surprise, don’t you think?”

“It’s a nice surprise,” he said. A fucking fantastic surprise. He twined their fingers together. “Is there anything else you’ve been thinking about? Wanting?” Tell me what you need, he thought, and I’ll make it happen.

“Weeell,” she said. “There’s — um. In the same vein as the makeup…”

“Go on,” he prompted. “I wanna know.”

“Underwear,” she said quickly. He could practically feel her blushing, without even having to see.

His eyebrows came together. “Like — women’s underwear? You want me to wear it?”

“Yeah. What do you think?”

He shrugged. “I think okay? Why not.”

“This probably stems from some kind of penis envy,” she said, almost apologetically. “I just want to be the guy occasionally.”

“I don’t know what penis envy is supposed to be and I don’t want to know,” he said. “But go ahead. Frankly it takes some of the pressure off.”

“I’ll be the boss,” she said.

“You’re the boss,” he agreed, and it must have been the right choice of words. He could feel her relax, unspooling against the pillows. Her hands squeezed his.

“Damn right,” she said.

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
